


Too good

by shipintheisland



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Angst, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Introspection, M/M, Someone gets punched, Sort Of, guess who eheh, no happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:21:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28241568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shipintheisland/pseuds/shipintheisland
Summary: Alex is good for him. And all Charles has to do to get this feeling is to smile, squeeze Alex’s hand from time to time, let him pour his heart out when he comes back to the hotel after a long day with his team and say I love you back - whether he thinks what he says or not is not relevant.
Relationships: Alexander Albon/Charles Leclerc, Charles Leclerc/Daniel Ricciardo, Charles Leclerc/Lance Stroll, Charles Leclerc/Sebastian Vettel, Lance Stroll/Sebastian Vettel, Lewis Hamilton/Charles Leclerc
Comments: 6
Kudos: 30
Collections: GGCEC 2020





	Too good

**Author's Note:**

  * For [justromandaydreams](https://archiveofourown.org/users/justromandaydreams/gifts).



> IIIIIIIIIIIIIIH I DID THIS  
> Okay so this is for my dear babe Haley, you beautiful angsty fucker I love you and I wish you a beautiful Christmas, even if you might not be very happy and cheerful after reading this becauuuuuse this is angst. Pure angst. You wanted feels and angst and I tried to put as much as I could, I hope you will like it !  
> Love you <3

Alex is good for him. Too good. He smiles at Charles and the world brightens a little, he takes his hand and everything feels okay again. Alex has this soothing power over him, can silence all his demons in a soft whisper and a tender kiss only he can manage to give, can make Charles forget all his flaws by a brush of his teeth on his neck, can make him feel alive with a few thrusts between his legs and promises moaned against the soft material of the pillows. It’s addicting, pleasing. And all Charles has to do to get this feeling is to smile, squeeze Alex’s hand from time to time, let him pour his heart out when he comes back to the hotel after a long day with his team and say  _ I love you _ back - whether he thinks what he says or not is not relevant, as long as he gets that expert tongue running on him in return. And maybe he does, maybe the flutter in his chest is for Alex, maybe the buzz in his ears is for the tanned hands on his thighs at night and the shiny brown eyes in the daylight, maybe the blush on his cheeks is for the whispered pleas and the loving praises Alex gives him constantly.

But Charles knows better. He can convince himself all he wants that the pure love and adoration Alex showers him with everyday is reciprocated and that Charles is capable of protecting and loving someone in return for all the good things he gets. But in the end, he knows it has nothing to do with Alex. It has nothing to do with any kind of beautiful, shared bond with someone that wants the best for him.

Because he gets the same feeling when Alex is not around and Charles crawls out of his bed and makes his way down the hotel corridor. It even grows when the door he knocks on opens and the person inside gulps, knowing why Charles is here with his hands shaking with desire and his pupils dilated with pure  _ need _ . The feeling stays when he is thrown carelessly against the cushions and his clothes are teared away from his flushed body. It screams in his head louder and louder at each thrust and he covers the sound with even louder moans. He bites his lip when teeth graze over the love mark Alex left on his shoulder, tightens his grip in the dirty blond hair when a  _ mein Gott, Charles _ is breathed in his neck, exhales when he feels the cold metal of a ring caressing his hips.

He wonders if Sebastian too feels that dangerous claw ripping his guts apart when they kiss under the shower, if he too knows they will do it again just for that few seconds of intense pleasure that makes Charles forget even his own name. He hopes Seb too tastes the guilt on his partner’s lips when he goes back home and pretends no one gripped at his hair and moaned around his cock last night, ignoring the growing doubt in the other’s eyes.

Alex will never voice his worries aloud anyway, as for everything else, he is too good for him.

2021 comes faster than Charles planned and before he knows it, Sebastian finds a new toy to drown his loneliness with. Charles almost thinks of gathering proofs about it and smugly displaying them in front of the horrified eyes of the ever unsuspecting father of said toy, but he gets distracted by his  _ official _ boyfriend taking his hand, asking for some comfort. The demotion to Alpha Tauri hurt more than anything, the dark bags under his eyes the most obvious evidence of his current mental state and Charles doesn’t find in himself the will to send him away to cry about it to Pierre. So he stays there all day, a strong support for Alex to try and put back together all the pieces he lost on his way, and Charles ignores quite effectively the demons rebelling when Lance passes them later, cheeks red from embarrassment and a hand failing to cover what looks like a hickey sucked too high on his neck.

That doesn’t stop him from introducing the Racing Point hotel two weeks later and claiming a new trophy on his list. It doesn’t help for anything though, as Alex notices the death glare Sebastian sends his way the next day after Lance runs away at his sight.

Still, Alex doesn’t ask any question, pretends Charles says the truth at another iteration of their undying love for each other, but Charles knows the belief is breaking when Alex lets him ride him and promises to make the demons go away, to make Charles his and his only. As if control is what Charles lacks in this disaster. As if Alex can stop the need of power, this incredible capacity to make anyone pliant to his every need.

Alex is too good for him, trying his best everyday to make Charles happy, to lead them to a healthy ending, as if the rest of his life is not crumbling to dust. Charles believes him when he says he loves him, because love is the only explanation to the amount of energy Alex invests daily in them compared to the growing lack of motivation for the carrier he worked for all his life.

He is too good for him, and that is why Charles finally accepts that the constant feeling he gets all the time is pure self hate when he chooses Sebastian’s replacement.

Daniel is easy to convince, on a high since he joined McLaren and a couple drinks and a few chosen words are enough to drag him to Ferrari’s hotel and suck him until the only sound flooding the room is a litany of  _ Charles, Charles, Charles _ . Charles knows the risk, knows what could be waiting for him the next day but he still digs his nails as strong as possible in Dan’s back when he hits his prostate and leaves marks that will need days before fading. Dan, as sweet as ever, leaves the room crying his regret and Charles thinks maybe, just maybe, he should think about why he is not crying for what he’s doing to poor, loving Alex.

Strangely, no one crowds him the next day, no yelling, no accusation, just hurtful eyes under brown curls and suspecting glances from Alex. Charles doesn’t mention it, circles his arms around his ‘only’ lover’s waist and kisses his jaw as a distraction. It works, as always, and a minute later they are hiding in a closet and Charles kills all doubts with his tongue in Alex’s mouth and his fingers around his length.

The little game continues for weeks, well-chosen words, agitated night, tears ignored, and Charles comes back to Alex like he would to say sorry, except he just says  _ I love you _ and still doesn’t think any word of it.

He makes a mistake, once.

He drags Daniel away from the garage, kisses his way down his neck and suddenly the door slams open to the force of a furious Lando. They don’t even have the time to pry away from each other that Lando is out again, stomping his way to the Red Bull facility.  _ Et merde… _

Daniel falls on the floor, a human form of regrets mumbling  _ I shouldn’t have _ and  _ I’m so sorry _ as if saying them to Charles will calm the Dutch storm coming his way. The two cheaters exchange a glance, Daniel’s eyes filled with horror and Charles knows his own are still the same, a small annoyance maybe shining in the back. For once, he doesn’t feel anything, the demons gone and the buzz finally leaving to let an uncomfortable silence take place in his skull.

The world takes a delight in making him wait for his inevitable fate. It takes until later in the evening, when he settles tiredly in his room and he hears the click of the door closing again. Alex is there, eyes red under the weight of his pain and Charles has the decency to avert his eyes. No word is spoken when Alex comes to sit down next to him on the mattress, no promises of fidelity when he leans in for a bruising kiss, nothing even close to love when he pushes Charles by the shoulders and undresses him and himself. Charles accepts his fate, lets Alex get the revenge he thinks he needs, lets him tear Charles apart when he pushes inside him with no preparation, lets him ignore the muffled screams and the pained tears, lets him call him hurtful names as they both cry their hatred toward him. Alex deserves this, Charles deserves this.

The only promise Alex gives him is that he will never trust him again and Charles, immobile and dying inside, believes him because he can’t trust himself anyway.

After that, the punch Max gives him is just a formality. The words don’t hurt him as much as Max wished they would, his supporting crowd of young British drivers making sure Charles knows he has no one on his side. It’s just one unpleasant second to pass before going back on track, literally and figuratively.

He tries to go back to Sebastian, promises he forgives him for replacing him, but the damage is done and neither Lance or Seb wants to have anything to do with or close to him. Approaching Dan is impossible now and as the loneliness settles for good in his core, Charles knows he can’t stop.

He cries his eyes out in a bar in Monaco, almost convinces himself the pain is real and not a fragment of his imagination until his new target notices him. Another drink is slided in front of him, a hand brushes a tear away from his cheek, and next thing he knows Charles pushes the pain away as he pushes against Lewis’ hips. There is no way Lewis doesn’t know about him, no way his friend Daniel didn’t tell him about the cheating or his protégé George didn’t warn him about the pain he caused to poor Alex.

Lewis is not tender with him, keeps his hands up in his hold as his other hand circles around his cock and keeps him so close yet so far from his release, surely thinks he’s teaching him a lesson of patience.

In the end they get there, Charles spills in Lewis’ hand and thinks that it still feels better than spilling apologies to everyone he hurt in the process.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Hehe sorry for that (that's not true i'm not sorry)  
> Merry Christmas bitches !


End file.
